Sapphire and Gold
by The Black Sun's Daughter
Summary: No matter what Morgana might say about him, Arthur is not an idiot. He's quite observant, actually. Observant enough to notice the flash of gold in someone's eyes. (2nd in A Torrent of Light series)


"Ah, Merlin, come here. I want to show you something," Arthur says when his consort finally returns to his chambers.

"Yes?"

Arthur opens the cupboard, removes a bundle of dark cloth, and shakes it out, holding it up; Merlin whistles through his teeth. Velvet lined with silk, the cloak is red, though not merely _red_, but a shade so dark and saturated that it's almost black, like blood spilled on a moonless night. The clasp at the throat is gold, wrought in the shape of coiled dragons with dark garnets which echo the cloak's colour for eyes.

"Come here, let me see it on you," Arthur says; the young man levels a deeply suspicious _look_ at him, narrowing his eyes. "Oh, don't give me that look. It's to be a gift, and I want to see that it fits right. Just hold still, would you?"

After another moment of suspicious regard, Merlin takes a step closer, and Arthur throws the cloak around his narrow shoulders, fastening the clasp. He notices how the manservant subtly rubs the folds of the cloak between his fingers. "Good?" he asks, taking a step back to study the fall of the material, circling around to see if the hem rests evenly.

"Very nice," Merlin agrees.

Arthur stops in front of him and adjusts the front. "The colour is called sangoire. I had to send all the way to Eire to find dyers who still remembered the mixing-formula for it," he says. "Though I can hardly say I'm surprised it can't be found here."

Merlin studies the rich fabric curiously. "Why, what's so special about it?"

"Only certain people are permitted wear it, that's what."

At that, the young man's eyebrows go up in surprise and amusement. "Really? There's a law about what _colour your clothes are?_" He snorts through his nose. "You nobles really are something. So, tell me, which certain people are allowed to wear this special colour?"

Arthur runs his fingers along the edges of the cloak, right where silk meets velvet. "Sorcerers."

All at once, Merlin goes wholly still.

"There is a room in the library," Arthur continues, affecting a casual air even though his voice has gone softer, "that is hidden behind a trick bookcase. In this room are a great many books that have to do with magic. And one of these books is a detailed history of magic's place within Camelot."

Merlin tries to step away, but Arthur grips the edges of the cloak tightly, keeping him in place.

"Apparently, my father lies a great more than I knew. Sorcery used to have a place in Camelot. In fact, it was near cherished. The third king of Camelot, Ganelon, made a law stating that only the sorcerers in the employ of the royal family could wear it. A mark of their status, as much as a crown upon a sovereign. I imagine that all other mentions of it were destroyed in the Purge," he goes on, then looks up into Merlin's face, pale and fearful. "I think it looks good on you. You wear it well."

The young man's lips tremble slightly; he opens his mouth, makes no sound, and closes it again, swallowing hard.

"I know, Merlin," Arthur murmurs softly, gentling his grip on the cloak and smoothing it back down. "Please. Don't be afraid. I'm never going to hurt you."

"How long?" Merlin asks in a trembling voice.

"Mm…since the marketplace, when I tried to take your head off with a mace." At the startled look the young man gives him, Arthur smiles a little. "You've always looked me in the eye, Merlin. Always. Even when you shouldn't."

The boy stares at him for a moment, trembling all over, and his eyes fill with tears. One hand comes up over his mouth, barely stifling a wretched sob, and he starts to fall to his knees; Arthur catches his arms, pulling him close. They kneel down on the floor, and he wraps both arms around Merlin's slender frame, holding tight as the young man sobs, his entire body shaking. "I'm sorry," he gasps, voice muffled since his head's pressed into Arthur's shoulder. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"Shh." He runs a hand through dark hair, silky-fine between his fingers. "It's alright. I know. I forgive you. Everything's alright." He keeps up his murmured string of reassurances, though he's not even certain that Merlin is listening anymore, letting the young man cling to him tightly and cry out the fear and stress that's likely had its claws in him since his first day in Camelot.

After a while, Merlin gradually calms, his breath coming in little shudders; he sits back on his heels and uses the edge of his neckerchief to dry his face. "Oh," he mumbles, gathering up the folds of the cloak so he's not sitting on them, holding it in his lap, and stroking the nap of the dense velvet. He raises his gaze to Arthur's. "You…you really knew the whole time?" he asks.

"I did, and I'm sorry, too," Arthur says sincerely, holding out one hand; a part of him swells with warmth when Merlin grasps his hand still, firm and trusting. "I'm sorry I was too much of a coward to say any of this earlier."

Merlin gives a weak laugh. "By that right, I'm just as much a coward as you."

"No." Arthur shakes his head. "No, Merlin, you…you are braver than anyone I've known, and you've courage enough to put any knight to shame. Myself included."

The young man gives a watery little laugh, then looks back down at the rich dark fabric in his lap, running his hands over the cloak. "So…this gift of yours is for me, then?" he asks in a small voice.

"It is," he agrees. "But now right now." He puts fingertips beneath Merlin's chin, raising his gaze. "I intend to give you this properly when the ban on magic is repealed. When I am king and you stand beside me as my Court Sorcerer and consort, that is when you'll wear it, for everyone to see."

The young man colours, the tips of his ears turning bright pink as blood rises in his face. Smiling, he unclasps the cloak and takes it from his shoulders, handing it back to Arthur. "Then I can certainly wait to receive it," he replies.

Draping it over one arm, Arthur stands up and pulls Merlin to his feet. He tries to fold it up, only to have his manservant take it from him, muttering something about 'inept princes' and 'never done laundry a day in his life.' Merlin hands it back to him folded into a neat square, and Arthur returns the cloak to the small hidden space in the back of his cupboard, sliding the false panel in front of it. Turning back to the dark-haired young man, he raises his arms slightly, offering, and he can't help the sigh of relief that escapes him when Merlin steps into his arms willingly.

"I _am_ sorry I lied to you," the young man murmurs as he rests his arms around Arthur's neck, fingers playing with the curl of hair at the nape of his neck, the drake's tail that never lies flat.

"And I forgive you because I understand why you did." Arthur knows that he was a coward for not doing this sooner. He had kept silent because he was afraid that he might lose Merlin. Merlin had kept silent because if just one wrong person knew, he would go to the pyre. Selfishness doesn't measure up to self-preservation. He slides his fingers beneath the hem of Merlin's shirt and traces circles on the warm skin of his back. "Will you show me?"

The sorcerer blinks at him in surprise. "My…my magic?"

"Mm-hm. I mean, I've seen it, but I've never really _seen_ it. And I'd like to."

After a moment's hesitation, Merlin nods. They sit on the edge of the bed, near enough their shoulders brush. The younger man hesitates a moment, uncertainty written across his face, and Arthur lays a hand on his thigh. Finally, he cups his hands together and blows softly into them. His eyes shimmer, gold sparking in the blue as sunlight catches and flares on the surface of a lake; the sight sends a thrill through Arthur. When he opens his hands, blue butterflies and purple dragonflies, conjured in light and smoke, take flight, fluttering around the room like scraps of coloured sunlight.

Arthur lifts a hand when a butterfly flits near, and it alights on his fingertip, bathing his hand in a delicate blue light. It has no real substance or weight, but a tingling warmth spreads up his arm from the point of contact. "You're such a _girl, _Merlin," he murmurs and gets a shove against his shoulder in response. Smiling, he turns to look at his consort and grasps his hand tightly, interlacing their fingers. "It's beautiful."

Merlin chortles softly, his voice thick, and Arthur prays he won't start crying again. He really does not know how to handle tears beyond just hugging someone and talking nonsense until it stops. Putting an arm around his consort, Arthur draws them both down to the bed, holding him close against his side.

"You know, I thought I'd have to work to convince you that magic isn't evil," the young man admits with a little laugh, resting his head on Arthur's shoulder, one arm curled over his middle. "What made you change your mind?"

Arthur hums softly, looking up at the canopy of the bed; his fingers play with the trailing ends of the ribbon around Merlin's neck, the garnet token he never takes off. "I was…mm, I'd say four-and-ten. I was in the library, trying to find a book for my lessons. Something on the lineage of one of the Great Houses, I think, I honestly don't remember now. And of course, where else should the damn thing be but on the highest shelf? And when I tried to climb up to get it, I realised that I could feel a breeze from behind the bookshelf. I found a catch in the wall beside it, and the bookshelf opened like a door, revealing a room." He remembers how he'd felt almost giddy with a mix of excitement and nervousness, thinking that perhaps some long-imprisoned monster would leap out at him, and being only somewhat disappointed when he saw only books and scrolls. "And then I saw that the books in the room were about magic."

"You didn't tell your father?" Merlin prompts, curious.

"I nearly did. I almost thought about putting the room to the torch myself. But I then I thought, 'Father says magic is the enemy that I must always fight against, but how can I fight an enemy I know nothing of?' So I decided that I would look through some of them first. Just so I could understand it better, so I knew what I was meant to fight." The words are still bitter in his mouth, and sometimes he almost despairs of that proud, foolish boy he'd been. Merlin leans against his chest, warm and comforting. "I picked out the nearest book that I could read. Some of them were in a language I couldn't fathom. I expected there to be curses in it, dark enchantments and all manner of unholy things. Blood sacrifices, I don't know," he snorts, remembering some of the outlandish and admittedly bloodthirsty things he'd thought to find. "And do you know what was in it?"

Merlin shakes his head a little, smiling that soft, secret smile that he only ever seems to bend on Arthur in times like this.

"Crops," he replies with a chortle. "It was about crops. How to keep pests away. How to cure different kinds of rotting sickness. How to quicken seeds in case any fields were lost to fire or something. How to summon a bit of rain if there was a drought." Arthur runs his fingertips up and down the curve of Merlin's back, counting the ridges of his spine and vowing to feed him better. "And I was just…astounded. I don't think it had ever occurred to me that magic could be used to do good, that it could be anything beyond what Father told me. So I kept reading. I spent nearly a whole day in that room, trying to understand. There wasn't a single book that contained dark magic, except in those that showed how to ward against it, how to undo it. And I think that's where it began for me. I began to learn that what my father had told me was a lie, that he was wrong. And ever since then, I have done whatever I could not to be taken in by his hatred. I've found ways to avoid raids, and when I couldn't, I did my best to lose the trail or get us lost or…anything I could think of."

He turns his gaze to Merlin, seeing the young man unwontedly solemn, eyes downcast. Arthur rests a hand on his back, trying to make him understand. "If I could undo everything my father's done, I would. But I have to be careful. You think that the fact I am his son would make that much of a difference if he knew? Like as not, he'd have me walled up in my chambers until he killed whatever sorcerer was responsible for enchanting my mind. Everything could be so much worse because I wouldn't be able to help in what small ways I can. He does listen to me from time to time, and what little influence I have I use to try and steer him to clemency."

"I know," Merlin replies with a small smile, laying his fingertips against Arthur's arm. "I know that. And I'm not asking you for more than that because I know it's dangerous. I was just…thinking."

"That's dangerous," Arthur says and laughs when Merlin swats him.

"Shut it, clotpole. I'm serious."

"What are you thinking about?"

Merlin turns towards him with a small grin, sliding one arm around Arthur's neck and drawing him down into a kiss. "A great many things." When they pull apart again, he sighs and rests a hand against Arthur's chest. "However…there is something that I need to tell you."

"Oh? What about?" Arthur asks.

"Well…it's about Morgana…"


End file.
